The Awful Truth About Tuesdays
by loveretriever
Summary: Based on a prompt from darling bubblecloudz. Horace Slughorn contemplates the deliciously devious idea of using Polyjuice Potion on two unsuspecting females: enter Minerva McGonagall and Luna Lovegood.


So, this was my first attempt at the prompt challenge inspired by bubblecloudz. However, I scrapped it at first in exchange for the other more Luna-centric fic I ended up writing. I then tried to patch this one up as I quite like Horace Slughorn. He's a dear and I particularly love the fact that he was portrayed in the films by Jim Broadbent, a lovely actor. Anyway, this is my sorry attempt at a non-Luna-centric Luna fic LOL xD

* * *

Prompt: 500+ words, Luna as main character or central focus of main character's thoughts, and contain reference to some sort of herb. Challenge created by bubblecloudz

Word Count: 1716

* * *

"Professor?" Luna asked, raising her hand. "Why do we use doxy eggs in potions? Isn't that unethical?"

Professor Slughorn sighed. Luna, always the activist, asked the most extraordinary questions. Most of the time, he just shrugged the questions away. This time, he had to answer. The whole class was interested.

"Well, you see Miss Lovegood, doxy eggs have certain binding qualities that are essential in potion brewing. They also help facilitate reactions that are necessary for creating the Girding Potion. Just as we use Mandrake roots and other animal ingredients, the use of doxy eggs isn't unethical. How doxy eggs are harvested is different. But I assure you," he added hastily, "these doxy eggs have the stamp of Ministry approval."

Luna looked at him with those calm blue eyes, clearing stating her view of Ministry-approved sanctions. It was slightly unnerving and Horace quickly proceeded before another volley of questions gushed from the ever-curious Ravenclaws.

At the end of class, everyone but Luna left the dungeons.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood?" Horace tried hard to stifle a sigh. He shuffled papers on his desk in preparation for his next class. Who was he kidding? He was doing small useless tasks to waste time, hoping she'd get the message and leave.

"Do you think that there is a potion to cure nargles? I was just wondering because, you see, they do love hanging around mistletoe." She looked up at him hopefully.

"My dear, what exactly is a nargle?" He decided, for once, to indulge her, thankfully without witnesses (the portraits, he thought sternly, don't count, not today, no sir.) Luna reminded him so much of her mother. Pandora Lovegood had been an extraordinary witch. Always experimenting, but quite brilliant. She had been a prized student, much as Lily Evans had been, except older. Horace became lost in thought as he debated how old Pandora would be compared to Lily. Time had flown by and he often muddled ages and years together. Oh dear, Horace thought...

"Nargles," Luna explained, "are small creatures who..."

Horace's train of thought turned into dreams of crystallized pineapple, firewhiskey and nasty experiments. There goes Luna, Horace thought wearily as snippets of sentences entered his tired mind.

"Professor?"

Horace jumped. "What?! Who took my dirigible plums?"

"Oh, you grow dirigible plums, too? Aren't they just delightful?" Luna squealed. "Have you seen my earrings?" She pushed back her golden hair to show off her earrings made from real dirigible plums, because, "They're only good if they're real. That way I protect my brain from the nargles," Luna whispered, looking around mysteriously, as if at any second a nargle might attack surreptitiously.

Horace wiped his brow with a conveniently located handkerchief in Slytherin colours embroidered with the design of a Potions Master emblem in purple thread. (The total existence, down to the last detail, of said handkerchief, is an attempt at humour, although the author is quite sure the esteemed Professor Horace Slughorn would appreciate said effort for its rightful merit as he reserves said handkerchief for such occasions as Troubling Students and Dealing with Unpleasant Subjects such as Harry Potter, Hagrid's Odd Creatures, and The Curious Case of Luna Lovegood.)

Horace interrupted Luna's flow of words. "Right, my dear. Very good. Well, off with you, then." Horace flapped a hand in the general direction of the door (technically he was aiming at the blackboard, but technicalities, shmeckticalities.) Poor Horace had had quite enough of Luna's babble. Really, first nargles, now he was spouting nonsense about plums. Luna's conversation on imaginary topics seemed to be contagious!

Once he was positive Luna had left him in peace, Horace poured out two glasses worth of firewhiskey. Just in case.

Letting his mind wander, images of Luna Lovegood invaded his thoughts. He often wondered what had happened to her shoes. If he remembered correctly, she had pink and purple Muggle shoes that were common nowadays even in the wizarding world. She wasn't pretty. At least, not in the conventional way. She had a wraith-like, pixie figure and her clothes extenuated her oddity, making her impressionable. In a word, the blonde girl was strange - not all there mentally. Horace drained his glass in approval of his assessment. Just as he was downing his second drink, a loud voice interrupted his lovely nightcap.

"Horace Slughorn!" a woman's voice echoed through the dungeon corridor.

Coughing and gasping a little, Horace set his empty glass down. Hard. Glass shattered all over the floor.

A distraught Horace waved his hand, attempting the Vanishing spell. Unfortunately, today wasn't Horace's lucky day. Glumly, he thought, today must be a Tuesday. Tuesdays are always horrible.

Right before the glass pieces vanished completely, in walked Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and former student of the almost late Horace Slughorn. Had Horace been in more trouble for something far worse, say, aiding and abetting one Dark Lord, he was sure Minerva McGonagall, the fearsome Scot, would have it in for him - poof! No more Horace. As it was, he was reclining in his comfy glory and the situation was merely embarrassing. Entirely on his part.

Wearing his favourite baby blue bathrobe, Horace was half-reclining on a sofa with a coffee table in front of him. On the table were two glasses, a large now half-empty bottle of firewhiskey, and an empty tray containing the remains of what once was, Minerva hazarded, crystallized pineapple. Due to Minerva's expert wandwork, Horace's second glass was restored to all its former glory, much to Horace's chagrin. Of course, Minerva was the resident expert on Transfiguration, not counting Albus (who was hardly around and therefore, to Horace's mind, only counted when he saw him, which was about once a month, usually on a Tuesday. Remembering this, of course, made Tuesdays even more awful for poor Horace Slughorn).

"Horace! Explain." Minerva tapped her fingers as she waited. Scots were not known for their patience, but although there was much dislike between their Houses, Minerva respected Horace as her former professor and as an esteemed colleague. Although not entirely approving of his actions, Minerva had found no fault other than a distinct love of parties (which Albus also shared, she grudgingly admitted), and a lack of adult supervision of his own House, which could not be helped as Horace rightfully argued, "one cannot be everywhere at once to see everything without aid, such as a Time Turner."

Horace stared, unable to speak. Thoughts of Luna Lovegood wearing tartan shawls and a pointed witch's hat (probably decorated in lilac and covered with stars, he thought), accompanied by a brief image of Minerva wearing that ridiculous pink dress he had once seen Luna wear to a party clouded his mind. Horace laughed hysterically and almost rolled off his sofa.

Minerva's eyebrows shot up into her hairline in disbelief. The esteemed Horace Slughorn had finally snapped. That's it, off to the loony bin with Horace, she thought irritably. All those years being on the run...

"Horace, pull yourself together, man. This is serious." Minerva's voice was lilting, her accent thick. Horace remained uncomprehending.

Sighing, Minerva held up her wand. "Horace, you have until three. One. TWO." Minerva counted slowly.

Horace Slughorn didn't stand a chance. He blinked and suddenly came to himself. Face full of horror, he understood too late.

"Three." Minerva smirked.

Horace fainted. It was a powerful smirk.

"Oh, Horace!" Minerva sang teasingly.

Horace opened an eye cautiously. "What?"

"You're on the floor." She looked smugly down at him, using her height to her advantage. Damnable witch!

Horace continued to lay there. "Oh." For some strange reason, images of Valerian, a herb particularly attractive to cats, kept running through his mind.

"Do you feel better now?" Minerva prodded him with her foot.

"Erm," was all Horace managed as he struggled to sit up.

"I came to talk to you about Miss Lovegood," Minerva prompted, hoping she wouldn't have to revisit the dungeons. The dungeons didn't have many windows. Because they're dungeons...Right, Minerva, pull yourself together, she mentally reprimanded herself. Sighing, she helped Horace into a lovely armchair and brought him up to speed.

After several cups of tea, Horace sighed. "Luna Lovegood in the Slug Club? Hmm, maybe it just might work. After all, Harry did bring her as his date. Quite unexpected, but she was well-received overall. Of course, even the Slytherin students know I don't tolerate any prejudices based on blood or other such nonsense."

Minerva pursed her lips, fully aware of all Horace's idiosyncrasies.

"You're missing the point, Horace," Minerva primly spoke, staring at the portrait on the wall. She enjoyed her victory while pulling rank on Horace and as a consequence couldn't help looking smug.

"Oh." Horace looked utterly defeated. He imagined a victorious tabby cat holding a bunch of dittany over a scratched Horace-armchair. It was completely unfair that Minerva always had the upper hand.

"However, no matter." Minerva waved a hand in a quite un-Minerva-like fashion. Horace envisioned how funny it would be if Minerva and Luna switched bodies for a day. He tried to picture Minerva wearing Spectrespecs, dirigible plum earrings and a necklace made entirely of butterbeer caps. Nope - he collapsed into a fit of giggles as his mind raced ahead at lightning speed.

Minerva gave up when she saw Horace close his eyes. Nabbing his hoard of Valerian, she left the dungeons triumphant. Ha! Teach that old man a lesson for ignoring her, she thought, chest swelling with pride at her deviousness.

Later, much later in fact, Horace made himself busy in the Potions classroom. Brewing two vats of Polyjuice Potion, Horace hummed happily when filling two containers. One was a beautiful emerald green cat-shaped bottle, complete with flicked tail and detailed ears and whiskers. The second bottle was cornflower blue, matching Luna's eyes, shaped in the form of a horse's head, complete with flecks of gold where the mane and eyes would be. Horace laughed gleefully as he imagined Minerva's expression. So much for boring Tuesdays!

Sometimes, Horace Slughorn could be a brilliant armchair.


End file.
